


Grateful

by Starlithorizon



Series: Molly Hooper, Deliverer of Souls [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post Reichenbach, gratitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:58:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Did I ever thank you, Molly?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grateful

It was an easy, peaceful day in the lab. Molly was finishing up some paperwork as Sherlock did various odd things with pipettes and Petri dishes, and it was nice. They were used to working in silence, and after he came back from the dead, it was an easy silence as well.

"Did I ever..." he began quietly, turning an observation dish with long, nervous fingers. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Did I ever thank you, Molly?"

Molly Hooper, the pathologist who could still be cheerful after dealing with a mutilated corpse, who had dated and then ensured the death of one of the most dangerous men in England, who was a very close friend to another of the most dangerous men in England, faltered. She had been so sure that nothing could surprise her, not after pulling off a magic trick to keep Sherlock alive. But hearing Sherlock Holmes hesitate over _manners_? That was absolutely shocking.

Her pen stilled over the form in front of her, midway through marking up a detailed description of the autopsy.

"Why?" she asked quietly. He refused to look up from the culture in that little dish he was spinning.

"I just need to know," he whispered. They both knew he hadn't, not in so many words. There had been a silent thread of gratitude in every cup of tea he made for her, though, or in every genuine smile. He didn't need to thank her, because he had done so by believing in her completely. It was more than trust, which he'd had since the moment they met. It was faith in Molly as a person, as a force of will and hidden strength.

She sighed, only briefly tempted to lie and say that he had thanked her. It would be absurd, though. She didn't have to assuage his fears of doing something A Bit Not Good. She just had to make him understand that his faith in her was thanks enough.

"No, you didn't," she said softly, finally putting the pen down. "But that doesn't matter. I know you always meant it."

He shook his head ferociously, looking up at her with anxious eyes, a small vertical line between his eyebrows.

"But I never actually _said_ it, did I?"

"What does it matter, Sherlock? I helped you, and you thanked me by saving the bloody world!"

He grimaced at that. He hated when she romanticized his years away, put them into terms like that. The killings had been justified, but he called himself a murderer all the same. Those years hadn't been about saving the world—they had been about saving John. And Mrs Hudson, and Greg. Entirely personal in nature, so much less than heroic.

"It matters, Molly," he said softly, so softly, the barest undulation of noise. Was he _guilty_? Honestly, it was a strange thing to feel guilt over.

"Fine," she said, standing up and walking over to him. She stopped at his side, one hand on the workbench, the other twisting them hem of her lab coat. "Tell me."

He finally looked up and smiled, just a tiny little bit.

"Thank you, Molly Hooper. For everything."

She smiled in full, watching as his face morphed into that squinty grin she so rarely saw. She then proceeded to hug the big idiot, much to his surprise. He complained and grumbled and muttered about not letting the culture sit for too long, but he wound his arms around her and hugged her back.


End file.
